


nothing could have parted us, bound by love for each other

by rosebud_writer



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: (but like poetic), AU, Domestic, Exploring, F/M, Fluff, Kind of sappy but listen, M/M, Nostalgia, POV Richard Papen, Polyamory, Romance, Surprise Visits, They need it, babes in love, disaster bi Richard Papen, no one asked for this but here i am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23388655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebud_writer/pseuds/rosebud_writer
Summary: Summer was always the longest of times, Camilla and Francis both left to spend time with their families. I had no intention to go back to California, as it was too expensive and of little reward.Really, I should have anticipated the melancholy that creeped into my soul, but I had been too distracted by the then present joys of companionship.One night, as I layed on Francis’ bed after a particularly long day, listening to Camilla’s favorite record on repeat, an idea stirred in the back of my mind.I made a call to Olivia Abernathy the very next morning,.~(TL;DR: Richard surprises his lovers over the summer, romantic and sentimental shenanigans ensue)
Relationships: Camilla Macaulay/Richard Papen, Francis Abernathy & Camilla Macaulay, Francis Abernathy/Richard Papen
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	nothing could have parted us, bound by love for each other

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a translation of the Odyssey by Robert Fagles. 
> 
> please enjoy!

Summer was always the longest of times, Camilla and Francis both left to spend time with their families. I had no intention to go back to California, as it was too expensive and of little reward. I had decided to stay in the apartment over this particular vacation, though it was much lonelier than I had hoped. Really, I should have anticipated the melancholy that creeped into my soul, but I had been too distracted by the then present joys of companionship. 

The miserable, hot days blended together, mindlessly boring. I picked up a few jobs to make up for the silent hours I would spend alone in the living room. The jobs that occupied my time (ones eerily similar to those terrible summers spent in Plano) were less than pleasant, but I couldn’t complain about any extra money. One night, as I layed on Francis’ bed after a particularly long day, listening to Camilla’s favorite record on repeat, an idea stirred in the back of my mind. 

I made a call to Olivia Abernathy the very next morning, her elated voice echoed over the receiver. 

“Richard, darling! It’s so nice to hear from you, Francis always speaks of you, but never lets me on the phone!” she said, speaking loudly. For once, I hoped Francis wasn’t in the room. 

I laughed, Francis was quite embarrassed by his mother. In all honesty, I found her quite entertaining. 

“Hello, Ms. Abernathy. I hope you’re doing well,” I said, cheerily.

“Oh darling, call me Olivia! I insist! Would you like me to put Francis on the phone for you? He’s not here right now, but I’m sure I could track him down.”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

Olivia was ecstatic as I explained my idea, giddily adding pieces to my plan and offering to help me with the actual execution.

“You don’t have to do that,” I told her when she mentioned booking my flight and hotel room. Though it would be helpful, I still despised the thought of using their money. 

“I don’t,” she had agreed, voice dripping with humor, ”but I want to. My baby has been so down lately.”

“Alright,” I had accepted, hesitantly,” I suppose I’ll be in contact with you soon. Thank you, Olivia. Remember not to say anything to him.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling.” 

One evening a bit after that chat, while Camilla chattered over the receiver about her day as I prepared some semblance of dinner, though I’m not sure if you could call reheated chicken and canned vegetables a true meal (how I missed Francis and Camilla’s eccentric and tasteful cooking!), I was hit with the familiar pang of longing in my chest. 

By the end of our nightly call, I had come to the conclusion: I couldn’t just surprise Francis, I knew he missed Camilla dearly as well, perhaps even more than I, somehow I would find my way to her. Quietly, as she wished me goodnight, I began to scheme, how could I get the two of us to Camilla’s family home without giving anything away? I’d have to look into train tickets and somehow get a hold of Camilla’s grandmother (She liked me well enough and adored Francis, so I wasn’t too worried). 

Time seemed to move slower after each time I spoke with one of them, the more I anticipated seeing them again, in the flesh rather than just in my dreams, the longer the hours felt. Finally, the day of my secret departure arrived. 

Traveling to see Francis did not take long, I had an afternoon flight. I tried to sleep on the plane, but was too consumed by excitement to truly fall asleep. What would his face look like? Would he cry? My fingers tapped the armrest impatiently. My taxi ride into the city played out largely in the same manner. 

The hotel itself was one of grand beauty, an arching lobby, golden gilded crowning, marble floors. The room I was to stay in was a masterpiece as well, luxurious crisp white linen sheets, gigantic windows that overlooked the landscape from their dizzying heights. From the dainty phone in the living area, I called Olivia after checking into my room, carefully going the long way around the hotel in case Francis happened to be wandering the hallways.

She answered after a few rings, I kept my voice low, not wanting anything to be spoiled when I was so close to pulling off this surprise. 

“Oh! Hello, you,” Olivia said, typically she would gush over me for a few moments before I could get a word in, I figured Francis was in the room. I imagined him, draped gracefully over a sitting char, smoking miserably as his mother’s new lover chatted excitedly. 

“Who’s that?” I heard him ask on the other end of the line, my heart was pounding at the very sound of his voice. 

“Just an old friend,” she told Francis, a little muffled, “we’re meeting up for dinner with them at that restaurant you like downtown, love.” I could hear the enthusiasm in her voice, hopefully Francis would brush it off as another of Olivia’s eccentric friends.

She had given me the address of the place the previous day, some impressive restaurant downtown. We confirmed the time and I quickly hung up, too nervous to say much more. 

I laid on the soft bed, not tired enough to sleep, but not in the right mind to do much of anything. I decided to take a shower, wanting to wash away the remnants of the few hours of travel had left on me. The warm water felt nice, yet it didn’t occupy me as long as I had hoped. 

In an attempt to waste time, I picked carefully through the small suitcase of clothes, I ended up deciding on a nice suit Francis had given me months ago, a classic cut with a silky feel. I played with my hair in the mirror, my reflection smiling back at me. Donning a tie Camilla had given me as an afterthought, I left with a few minutes to spare, head tucked down and hands shoved in my pockets to keep from fretting. 

“Abernathy,” I told the woman at the front of the restaurant. She smiled at me with a detached, tired look in her eyes. 

“Oh yes, Ms. Abernathy said you were coming a little late. Come this way.” The woman led me through the back, under large chandeliers and grand archways. I was not surprised Francis fancied a place like this. 

I heard his voice before I saw him, trying not to outpace the hostess. My heart raced, my excitement manifesting in my chest, I was actually going to see him. Francis’ red hair stood out against the dull surroundings and he was all that mattered in that moment. Olivia saw me, but kept her composure as I walked up behind him. I thought I was going to burst. 

“May I sit with you all?” I said, trying to keep my voice casual as possible, which was nearly impossible at this point. 

Francis turned around so fast I was surprised he didn’t fall out of his chair. His hand flew to cover his mouth, eyes wide. Olivia laughed loudly at his expression, which he held as I slid into the chair next to him. 

“Good of you to join us, darling,” she said, winking at me. I let the grin on my face widen, and I nodded at her. I turned to face Francis, dressed in a wonderful grey suit with navy accents, who was still looking at me in disbelief. For a moment, I thought I saw tears glistening in his eyes, I wished to kiss him right then and there, but even if Olivia wouldn’t mind, I knew I couldn’t. It was fortunate that I was patient enough to wait, though I wished to not push that limit much further. 

“Hi,” I said softly to him, putting a hand on his knee discreetly under the table, 

“Am I dreaming?” he whispered, biting his bottom lip. We all laughed again, but this time Francis joined us. 

I held his hand under the table, he squeezed mine every once in a while, as if he was making sure I hadn’t disappeared. I squeezed back, happier than I had been in a long while, I had a feeling he was too.

The evening plunged quickly into darkness and we eventually left that wonderful restaurant in a haze of drunk satisfaction. Hours passed by like minutes and I took great pleasure in being able to see his face while we talked, rather than just hear his lovely tenor voice. When we couldn’t stand sitting any longer, we walked slowly back to the hotel, Francis’ hand brushed against my own, a maddeningly alluring taste of his skin that I had missed on those lonely nights.

We made our way into an empty elevator, Francis went to press a number, but I beat him to it. His eyes flickered confusedly to my face when I pressed the number of my floor.

“You’re not,” he said, disbelief riding in the undertone of his surprise. 

“Maybe you could take a glance into my room, it’s quite gorgeous,” I said, winking at him. His porcelain skin had taken on a wonderful rose color, I couldn’t help but stare, the hypnotizing beauty of the hotel now not nearly as interesting as my blushing lover. 

Our faces had drifted quite close in the wonderfully charged moment, two inseparable forces longing to intertwine once again. I closed the gap, gave into the longing that I had been suppressing for what seemed like an eternity. I kissed him, hard, desperation dripping into my veins. God, I had missed him. 

He broke away first, shoving my wandering hands from his collar.

“Richard,” he said, his tone disapproving (though I could tell he wasn’t actually that cross). 

I had meant to kiss him again, the first taste in so long left me needing for more, but Francis shoved me toward the opening elevator door. He ran a hand through his hair, quickly readjusting his tie before we stepped into the long, golden hallway. 

We made it into my room, as soon as the door closed behind him, my hands found him. Roaming wildly, fumbling with the many buttons of his suit. Francis sighed into my lips, which I joyfully took as an invitation to go on. His breath hitched as my mouth found its way along his neck. 

While we were apart, in so many more ways than one, I had craved him: his company, his intellect, his entire being. Now, as we whispered one another’s names in the fading twilight, I knew I would always need him. I let myself fall down that lovely, lazy downward spiral, hearing him gasp once more, burying myself in the smooth sheets and perfume of Francis’ skin.  
~  
I woke to sunlight gleaming on the floor, picturesque as it danced upon the rich carpet and our discarded clothes. With a soft sigh of content at the thought of the night before, I stretched a hand out, searching for the warmth I would be hard pressed to let go of now. His skin was pleasant against my own, I pulled him close. The golden light had stirred an image in the back of my mind that I wanted so badly to entertain. 

“Francis,” I whispered, unsure if he was awake, but unable to hold the second secret much longer.

“Mmh?” he responded. His cheek resting against my chest, still half asleep as I ran my fingertips along his shoulder blades. 

“What would you say if I had another surprise I’ve been keeping?”

“I would say that I’m not sure how you could outdo yourself,” he said, glancing up at me through his long pale eyelashes.

“What do you say about going to rescue Camilla in a few days?”

He pushed himself up to look at me, elation glowing in his smile, “You’re serious?” I nodded. “I miss her dearly,” he said, with a little sigh, and leaned down to press his lips against mine. We lost ourselves in the familiar comfort of the other’s warmth once again. 

After a few enjoyable, lazy days with Francis in the city, we packed up to fetch our lady. Traveling to Camilla’s was largely uneventful, we had opted to take a train across states, as it was faster and cheaper. Francis, who was prone to motion sickness on even the slightest accord (the three of us had tested his limits one drunken night at a local county fair. It’s simpler to say that the evening did not end well) had taken a sleeping pill. He slept soundly, head resting on my shoulder as I watched the landscape blur and blend together.

Francis called Camilla’s grandmother from a hotel close to the house, he had insisted on doing the talking (“She adores me,” he told me an elaborate and long winded story as to why, but I can’t quite remember the details). I fidgeted next to him, trying to decipher the mumbling from the other end of the receiver. It made a little click as Francis hung up, I looked at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ve been invited to breakfast at the Macaulay home tomorrow, if you care to join.” he said, giving me a smirk and lit a cigarette. 

By some miracle, Francis and I were out of the hotel on time the next morning, waiting for a taxi in the early sun (it wasn’t really that early, but I had still complained greatly upon getting out of bed). 

The ride wasn’t long, it took us through scenic neighborhoods, their large rich houses a mixture of attractive yet pretentious faces. Francis pointed out the home to me, an eye-catching white old timey mansion with a wrap around porch. It was grand, yet at the same time had a suffocating aura to it, surely not a place I could imagine growing up in. 

I squeezed Francis’ hand after the taxi spit up dust at the end of the long driveway. His bright eyes met my own as we walked to the front door.

“Excited?” I said, watching him tap his foot impatiently after a quick rap on the door. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually going to see her, it doesn’t feel real.”

Someone had answered, ushering us into the foyer where we were greeted by an elegant, but frail old woman. This, I figured, must be Camilla’s grandmother, I had only spoken with her over the phone on previous occasions. She greeted Francis with a delighted hug and kissed his cheeks, she turned on me with the same warm smile. 

“Oh, and you must be Richard! What a handsome boy! My Camilla has spoken dearly of you,” she said, reaching to kiss my cheeks as well, which I returned as best I could. 

She and Francis chattered for a few moments while I stood by, smiling and nodding along.

“Oh, you humor me, Francis. I know you two aren’t here for me,” she turned her head slightly, “Camilla?” her grandmother called, “Come down here a moment, dear.”

There was a sound of light, approaching footsteps. And there she was, her light brown pants tacked up dusty ankles, collarbones peeking out her white blouse. If I had wanted to say something, I don’t think I would have been able to, for I was enchanted by the mere sight of her, lost in the hair that fell loose from her low ponytail. 

“What is it, Nana?” she said, leaning from the doorway when she stopped short.

She saw Francis first, her pretty lips forming a small “o.” I laughed, her head lashed towards the sound of my voice. Sparkling grey eyes met my own, Camilla stopped, mumbling something under her breath. For a few moments, we cherished the opulent quiet. An innocent, warm feeling spread to my tingling fingertips and mixed pleasantly with my excitement. Francis’ soft chuckle and open arms broke the silence. 

“My dear, we aren’t ghosts. Come here now,” he said, letting out a small chuckle when she wrapped her arms around him. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she said, hissing in his ear, “traitor.” 

Her grandmother scolded her for that comment as she pulled away from Francis (“Nana always told me I was too harsh,” Camilla had said to me one evening, “advised I hold my tongue or I’d never find a husband.” We both laughed at that last part). She made her way to where I stood, even with her right in front of me, I could hardly believe how beautiful she was. 

“Hello, my darling,” I said against her ear, delighted to have her in my arms, her honeysuckle scent practically magic.

“Oh, don’t kiss up to me,” she said, though her hand tightened in my hair and I knew she was just as delighted as I to be together again.

Our reunion was promptly cut short (how I longed to keep her in my arms!), as we were ushered into the charming dining room. Camilla sat between the two of us at the table, leg jumping restlessly as we conversed easily over an endless flow of dishes. It was her grandmother who suggested a walk once we had finished, the last plates taken away, Camilla perked up immediately at the idea. 

The sun outside was inviting, blue sky dotted with scenic clouds, and the green of the lawn around us was so saturated it felt almost poisonous. Camilla swung our intertwined fingers between us, talking animatedly to Francis about some novel they had both finished, I was preoccupied with the sight her free hand, which gestured wildly through the air. 

“Oh! You see that bookstore there? “ she said, not waiting for us to look, “I used to spend hours and hours roaming the shelves, it was practically my second home.” Francis and I followed the direction at which her slim fingers pointed. It was a rustic little store front, quite inviting, I smiled imagining a small Camilla wandering endless halls of stories, perched in odd corners and on stacks of books. 

How long we walked, I’m not sure. Camilla told us plenty more stories (how she hid at the park one night when she wanted to run away, her favorite ice cream shop as a child, the pond she learned to skate on in the winter), I think I could have listened to her graceful, low voice forever. 

We did eventually make our way back to the house, though we spent that early lazy evening lounging on the lawn. Camilla had brought out a large blanket, leading us to a spot hidden away by a grove of trees. The sun sank slowly, as if it knew we wanted every moment of this day to stretch into an eternity. There was one moment in that vivid green sanctuary, Camilla tugged on my hand. 

“Come with me, I’d like to show you something.” she said and I knew the look in her eyes. Mischievous, glimmering, desperate- the last of which was surely plastered on my own face. 

I glanced at Francis, who shooed us with a lithe flick of the hand. I followed Camilla to wherever she decided to take me, gladly would have accompanied her anywhere that golden hair and startling gaze wanted to go. 

We walked a little way, weaving between trees and over stumps, we didn’t talk, through words at least. I knew how she felt through her hands resting on mine and on my waist, letting one another feel and breathe each other’s being. She stopped suddenly, pulling me to a halt along with her. 

Our lips found one another, moments apart. Her fingers scratched through my hair, my hands roamed the body I had missed so dearly. Camilla made lovely little noises as we pressed close together, she was soft, commanding, divine- and I was happy to please. 

My heart ached for her all those long months alone: for her wit, her passion, her very existence. With her in my arms now, I knew I had been altered by her in some grand, cosmic way. She was so much more than a comfort, more than a pleasure. 

“Do you actually have something to show me?” I said once we had broken apart, a little breathless. She laughed, tracing her lips along my jawline. 

“Not in the slightest,” she pulled back to look up at me, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

Sooner or later, after many more shared moments making up for lost kisses, we did find our way back to Francis. He laid lazily in the fading daylight, flipping mindlessly through a book Camilla had brought along. We joined him on the blanket, relishing in the proximity of the three of us. 

Sunset dripped liquid gold light over us on that warm blanket. I pondered as we laughed, while Francis rested his head in Camilla’s lap. My life changed drastically over the past year, through the events of my first semester to now (more recently in a better position, all due to Francis and Camilla). I had never expected that two people could transform life into something meaningful.

There was talk of going home, back to our routine and comfortable apartment. The idea was agreeable, of course, no more long empty evenings, the still air filled with their presence. Oh, the concept of the “home,” it seemed to be something of much debate among the ancient philosophers, for what truly makes something a home? I had never felt right, truly, in Plano, there was no place for me there. Although I had felt a sort of glamor my first year in Hampden, even with all that had happened, I never really had a place in it all- thrown into whatever hell it had been by the fates. However ridiculous I sound, my home, my refuge was simply with Francis and Camilla.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my drafts for like a month (under a doc titled 'random stuff I dont plan on finishing' ironic)
> 
> shout out to my dear, blossombox who literally cheered me on the entire way through writing this (thank her for this self-indulgent piece lol).
> 
> thanks for reading!  
> <3 rose


End file.
